


Capitalist Spider

by MoMoTheEdgelord



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anti Capitalist, Implied Romance, Manipulation, Other, Russia, Soviet Union, Spiders, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoTheEdgelord/pseuds/MoMoTheEdgelord
Summary: Isaak Petrov head Archivist of the Volkov Collection, the Russian sister organization of the Magnus Institute, reads a mysterious statement about Capitalist Spiders.Link to official AudioQuiet Crysis did the editing and voiced Mr Solomon and is wonderful and handsome and unlike Mr Solomon Cain is not stinky THANK YOU SO MUCH CAIN!!Script was by me ;u; hope you enjoyhttps://soundcloud.com/user-287136166/capitalist-spider audio is linked
Kudos: 2





	Capitalist Spider

Strange horrifying overlapped twisted voices: Translated From Russian To English For Your Personal Listening Pleasure Courtesy Of The Eye

Izzy: Okay, Recorders are on. Check.

Izzy: My composure is intact. Check.

[Knocking on the door sounds]

Mr. Solomon: Izzy, are you in there?

Izzy: Yes, what is it?

Mr. Solomon: I’d appreciate your opinion on something.

Izzy: can it wait?

Mr. Solomon: That depends. 

[The door opens.]

Mr. Solomon: When was the last time we had a real talk?

Izzy: This morning on the way into work, you spent the entire morning having me help you look over applications for new hires so we wouldn’t be so alone in the building.

Mr. Solomon: [Laughs]. Okay, you have me there. I don't suppose I could bribe you with some coffee?

Izzy: Come on. You don't even know how I take my coffee. 

Mr. Solomon: [audibly wearing a shit-eating grin] Hot. Milk and three sugars. 

Izzy: ...Okay, that's tempting. Unfortunately, though, I just found a new statement. It was hidden under a filing cabinet. Which reminds me! Would you help me upright a cabinet afterward?

Mr. Solomon: Ah, that  _ is _ unfortunate. Having to do our jobs is so inconvenient sometimes. I suppose I can come back afterward to check in on you, though. I'm always happy to lend a helping muscle. [Audible eye twinkle] Maybe I'll even bring that coffee. 

Izzy: [Clears throat awkwardly] I'd be amenable to that.

Mr Solomon: In the meantime! While we must part for now, I will miss your company quite a bit.

Izzy: I umm, I… yes. See you in a bit, Feo.

[mumbled nearly inaudibly] miss you too

[Sounds of Mr Solomon shuffling off.]

Izzy: Statement of Isidor Pavlovsky, taken the twelfth of April 1946.

This statement is about a “Capitalist Spider” and recorded today, December 4, 2016, by Miss Isaak Petrov Head Archivist of The Volkov Collection.

I have never dealt with the scourge of capitalism personally. I’m very familiar with all the theory- how bad the boss is and how capitalism can and does kill. It has been all over the media all my life. I have been well informed about the dangers. 

But sometimes- I have learned- no matter what you do, no matter how shared everything is, a pecking order starts to develop.

And then a boss is born. A boss hatches and crawls on its spindly little legs to the top, where it learns to puppet those beneath it.

Bosses are an inherent evil. They must become so in order to be bosses.

When I was in my late twenties, I worked in a factory. We made weapons- put together guns for the troops. We spent our time working, and talking, when we had the time. We talked about many things, but foremost in our minds was always the potential danger of America. We cooperated to stop it. The work was never too hard, the conditions always kind.. We did things at a reasonable pace. My wife was a worker too. At the time, we worked at the same factory, although she primarily worked away from where I would be able to see.

My wife and I would get off work at about the same time. We would spend our afternoons curled up on the couch together, listening to the radio. We had a tv, but we weren’t very interested in it, as the radio dramas usually had more to offer.

I distinctly remember a segment we listened to every Sunday morning, as we were about to head out to work. It would always talk about the predatory capitalist spider, and how it took a strong communist to not get caught in his web. To not become a fly. ‘Russia Needs Exterminators not Flies.’

Everything seemed pretty comfortable back then, until the day a “boss” started to worm its way into our factory.

I distinctly remember the day he arrived. He said he transferred from some other factory- I can’t even remember its name now. He didn’t even pretend to like me when he arrived, but quickly started socializing with everyone else. I was content though, he wasn’t hurting anyone or harassing me at the time.

I think his name was Boris? He was tall kind of handsome, but in an intimidating, unfriendly sort of way. I remember thinking he was, frankly, highly attractive. I don’t like men in that way, but he had a certain kind of charm to him.

But he had no interest in me or my wife, so I tried to not pay attention to what he was doing. That soon proved rather difficult, however, as he interacted with everyone I knew, wrapping them around his spindly long fingers. 

Then I started to notice more and more webs around, cobwebs mostly. Then a spider every once in a while. Nobody talked about it. It was remarkable how quickly the infestation became accepted fact.

Before I knew it, a hierarchy was slowly building above me. I could see people organizing in more and more lateral ways, with Boris on top and everyone else below him. I could feel the web spinning around me, suffocating me day by day. I wasn’t even allowed the dignity of being a point of connection- just what gets tangled between. I became a fly.

The change was nearly imperceptible at first, and by the time it became clear to me, it was far too late. Day by day, the other workers stopped being friendly with each other. It became increasingly clear there was a pecking order enforced by Boris. If somebody started to get too close with someone they weren’t supposed to, Boris would come around and notice. He took us aside to ‘have a chat.’ It became increasingly hard to talk about Boris, at least for me. I couldn’t say his name out loud. When I tried my mouth would shut and wouldn’t open until the topic shifted.

I think I noticed it with other people too. They would lose what they were saying, sometimes even mid-sentence. That or they would find their words replaced in their mouths. 

The days began to blur together, and I couldn’t tell you how long it was until we couldn’t open our mouths at all when working. I once heard something from Boris in the distance, even though I couldn’t find any trace of him. He said: “It’s better when nobody talks isn’t it? More efficient.”

It was, but it felt horrible. Every hour became painful. Nothing really ever felt the same after that. Eventually, we received an order from the Unions that some changes were to be installed. A more official pecking order had been reinstated. It was because “Our factory’s weapons were jamming.” I knew almost instinctually that this was his doing- I could feel his web, every string, every tug of his pulling us into place.

We weren’t strong communist exterminators, we were flies caught in a capitalist web. We kept working and working in our factory, and from the outside, everything looked normal and alright.

One day, I saw someone get into an argument with Boris. The man made a big show of it on the factory floor and Boris? Well, he couldn’t have that. So what he did was smile and all of a sudden I lost control of my limbs, I could feel the tugging of strings around me. A single glance around told me I wasn’t the only one with spiderwebs wrapped around my throat and joints. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, through me. My mouth moved without my will, and I didn’t have a choice in what came out. It wasn’t mine, it wasn’t mine.

I helped hold the man down, my limbs pushed as if the web channeled his will. Another man slit his throat, and both the attacker and the victim wore the same horrified expression. Boris turned around, and in that moment I felt the strings loosen. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the knife and buried it between his shoulder blades.

We hid the bodies, both, and I hope you will forgive me for not telling where. I still feel guilty. It’s my fault one innocent man is dead, a death I could have prevented if only i’d picked up on it sooner. If I had realized Boris was a threat, a capitalist spider, nobody would have had to die.

Supplemental thoughts,

There isn’t really any way of confirming or doing follow up on this one as far as I can figure. 

We can’t find death records or missing persons records matching the description (or lack thereof) of this “Boris”, and without any corroborating evidence, it comes across as at best poorly written anti-capitalist propaganda, likely produced during the Communist Era.

The lack of detail makes me wonder if any of this is real, and the amount of faded and smudged information on the paper makes me question quite a bit about this story.

Spiders, really? How cliche. I personally think they're usually rather cute.

Mr. Solomon: Izzy you done in there yet?

Izzy: Oh yes, just finished Feo. This was a weird one. Some nonsense about spiders.

[Opens door noises]

Mr. Solomon: [Chuckles softly] You Should Just Forget About That. Maybe You Should Go Shred The Statement Later.

Izzy: I Should Go Shred The Statement Later, Your Right.

Mr. Solomon: Here. Let me help with that Cabinet first, though. 

[bad metal scraping noises]

Mr. Solomon: You feeling alright? You looked a little woozy there for a second.

Izzy: Yeah, I think I’m fine I’m going to go Shred This Statement. Then I might need to go home early I’m not feeling well.

Mr. Solomon: Ah, I guess our little Coffee date must wait. Ah- Feel better!

[Recorder end Click]

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, please understand Mr Solomon is a stinky, stinky, man and I can not help if you can smell him through the text or audio.


End file.
